


Dinner

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-08
Updated: 2005-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-15 10:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Abbey cooks for her husband





	Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Dinner**

**by:** Caroline 

**Character(s):** Jed, Abbey, Zoey  
**Pairing(s):** Jed/Abbey  
**Category(s):** Angst, Post White House  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Summary:** Abbey cooks for her husband  


Finally, able to cook in my own home. There's something so simple, yet so precious about that basic chore. For me, it's now a privilege. To be able to cook for my husband in our very own kitchen. To not be waited on hand and foot. To not have every meal served. To not have strangers washing your underwear. 

Don't get me wrong, it was all great. But nothing beats the smell of basil, garlic, and oregano wafting though the halls of this old farmhouse. The aroma will drift to my dear husband's office where he's reading reports, writing notes carefully in the margins. His cup of tea that I brought him earlier will be perched- untouched- on his desk exactly where I placed it. His glasses will be halfway down his nose, his feet on the desk, every now and then he'll rub his temples in impatience. He'll smell dinner and smile. He'll get up and walk downstairs and stand in the kitchen doorway. 

Ahh, I hear his footsteps. I don't even turn around, a smile on my face as I wait for his arms to go around my waist pulling me gently close to his warm body. 

"Dinner's almost ready." 

"Okay. It smells really good, Mom." 

I turn, unable to stop the tears from gathering in my eyes as I see my youngest daughter standing in the doorway. "Zoey," I whisper so softly neither of us know if its imagined. I remember. 

Some days I forget he's gone. That's when it hurts the most. 

THE END 


End file.
